


Luna's Dohas

by Luna_Leclair (Moonluster)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Doha, Doha Poetry, Poetry, poem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:15:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29532537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonluster/pseuds/Luna_Leclair
Summary: A collection of various Doha-style poems of different topics that I've done.





	1. "Family"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I wonder about the meaning of family.

“Family”  
  
What does it mean?  
What is it like?  
Maybe it isn’t that simple  
or maybe it’s complicated.  
I’ve never really had one.  
Recently I’ve come across two,  
And they have taken me in.  
I realize family isn’t blood.  
Still, sad that the world and its’ inhabitants  
love me more  
than the people who said  
they did  
ever did.


	2. "Proud"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I express my desire to be someone's pride.

“Proud”    
  


All I ever wanted    
was to make   
someone proud    
of me.    
Disappointment stings. 

even more than 

the glucose needle. 


	3. "Snowflakes"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I talk about the snow.

“Snowflakes”   
  
Snowflakes fall   
big and fluffy.    
I’m warm inside.    
The fan roars.    
Writing is hard. 


	4. "What did you say?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I tell someone how I really feel.

"What did you say?"  
  
I said I love you  
in my own way  
you wouldn't understand  
though.   
It hurts you don't care  
for yourself  
or see your beauty  
like I do.   
Please see me. See yourself the  
way I see you.   
My heart hurts. 


	5. "Depth Perception"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I talk about being half-blind and falafel.

As I write this, I’m half-blind with an eyepatch over my right, dominant eye. 

I’m fighting through a haze of gray, fuzzy static as my seeing yet blind right eye, handicapped, is struggling to perceive. 

I keep making silly spelling mistakes because, while I can type just fine, depth perception--and overall perception--is off. 

I walked into 7 Spice Cafe yesterday with both my eyepatch and my mask, and I noticed how people changed how they addressed me. 

The people taking my order were more...understanding? Or is it that they were intimidated by my pirate-y/bandited look? 

I’ll never know, but the falafel was really good.   



	6. "Dohas"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I write a Doha about Dohas.

I hate all the Dohas I’ve done so far.    
None really capture the truth of my thoughts.    
Plus, they’re hard to write.   
How meta to write the very thing I’m having a hard time writing.    
Maybe the next one can be something about my emotions.    
This is just a test run.    



	7. "'How Can I Work' aka a Doha About Nothing"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I attempt to write about one thing but end up writing about another. (cw suicide)

How can I work   
when I know that my brother is this    
close to probably killing himself?   
How can I work   
when my heart is heavy and my belly is full    
of guilt?   
How can I work    
when my hand cramps as I write this stupid   
Doha?   
Why does this always happen to me?    
If it’s not one thing, it’s another.    
At least the music I’m listening to is really   
cool, and offsets these nasty feelings inside me.    
Rotten, twisted things.    
Ouch.


	8. "Write, Little Girl"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I remember being a young writer and wonder what literature actually is.

If someone would have told me that    
Literally anything I shit out    
on a dirty piece of paper would be    
considered “literature”, then I would have    
endless paper strung all around my room.    
A memory comes to me about how, when   
someone looked at my writing, they said that   
it needs to have purpose.    
I guess they were wrong, and owe the   
little me in that seat a big apology.    
Write, little girl, write until your hand    
gives out.    
I wish someone would have said that   
to me instead.    
So I guess I have to.    
I know myself best, after all. 


End file.
